Only Human
by Kodiak Bear Country
Summary: A series of unrelated events wind up causing Sheppard and McKay grief.[COMPLETE]
1. Chapter 1

Only Human

By M.N. Talbert

They say it only takes a second to make a mistake, but a lifetime to regret it. The second is debatable. In actuality, I think it was less than half a second, less than the time to blink an eye, or a flutter of a hummingbirds' wing – but a lifetime to regret? I think they were wrong on that one too. It'll haunt me even after I die.

OoO

I was sipping my coffee, reading the report that Bates had given me on a planet he and his team had visited. It'd been worthless; the only evolved life form consisted of some kind of elongated tapeworm. Either the wraith had been busy in the past, or the Ancients had never seeded this particular gem of a world.

My personal vote was the pass option. The world was proto-earth - volcanic, volatile. McKay had said something about it being in the throes of its final days. Whatever the cause, I'd rather not be there when it finally imploded and took itself, and anything nearby, along with the destructive ride. Even back in the day, the Ancients would've known its life was waning, and it wouldn't have made the top ten of potential breeding grounds. You don't build a henhouse on quicksand.

"You busy?"

I looked up from the report, and saw Rodney McKay peering worriedly into my office. I know that I didn't manage to hide the irritation at being interrupted - interrupted, I might add, before I'd even managed an hour alone, and I'm equally pretty sure I telegraphed the fact that I'd actually _noticed_ he was worried about something, and if McKay was worried about something, that generally meant _I_ should be worried about something, and here's the funny thing - I don't like being worried about _something_, when I don't know _what_ that something is.

"I was." I kept it straightforward. I always did with McKay. He took enough curves and turns for both of us.

"Good," he said, oblivious to the double meaning in my reply.

Or maybe he wasn't oblivious. It was hard to know with Rodney. He didn't seem to care about social skills like most people. An example, I care if I say something rude, or at least I attempt tact and diplomacy, except when I'm really pissed – but you get the idea. Not McKay. In fact, I sometimes wonder if he doesn't intentionally belittle to emphasize that it's not all about you, or anyone else.

McKay was leaning forward, and staring at me. Abruptly he waved a hand in front of my face. "Where do you go when you do that?" he asked with a mixture of wonder and annoyance.

I frowned at him, just because some of us employed mental thought instead of constantly speaking out loud – "You wanted something?" I said, steering him back to the original reason for him darkening my door.

He straightened, and gave me one final puzzled look, before I saw the mental rubber band snapping back to the original topic. "Right," he declared. "There's a device in my lab, I think it wants you."

"Wants me?" I repeated stupidly. How can a device want someone?

"Not you," he said derisively. "Your gene."

"I knew you only wanted me for my genes," I teased. I was rewarded by a disgusted look.

"First time, mildly amusing," he said. "Each time after, increasingly annoying."

I stood up from the desk, figuring I might as well go see this device that he was so hot about. As I walked by him, I couldn't help but throw in one more jab. "It's only annoying because my genes are superior to your genes."

I chose to ignore his shouted retort as he followed.

OoO

This was the device that wanted me so badly? I was holding a rock. Maybe an Ancient rock, but it was still a rock. A rose is a rose –

"You dragged me down here for this?"

McKay rolled his eyes, and grabbed the rock out of my hand. "Not only that." He pulled some kind of circular device off the table and held the rock in one hand, the circle thing in his other. "It's a set, Major. I can't get it to work."

"How do you know it _does_ work?" I asked. Grudgingly, I took both items, and tried to figure out what it was. The circle had a few holes, and they were about the size of the rock, so McKay at least had the right parts from what I could tell. Still, "Maybe it's broken. You've got the gene, after all."

"I'm aware of that," he replied testily. "But as you know, some devices respond better to those born with the gene."

Boy, that had to have killed him to admit it. I couldn't help the smirk, and from the hooded glare, I could tell Rodney was seething. I suppose I was needling him, but it was fun, and he had interrupted my coffee.

"All right," I said. "Did you try to put this – rock thing into a hole?" I didn't want to look like an idiot by sticking something somewhere when it might not supposed to actually go _there_.

"Yes."

"So it goes in the hole," I clarified.

"Stick it in the hole, Major," McKay said tightly. "I'd prefer to not look like a wraith drained skeleton before you get around to testing it."

I've got a reputation already for having a dirty mind, and if Ford was here, I probably wouldn't have let that hole comment pass, but seeing how McKay was getting testy, I supposed I'd let it slide – this time. Taking a last look at the rock, I pushed it in one of the holes on the circle thing.

I didn't realize at first I was holding my breath, but as the seconds ticked by, and the device didn't respond, I relaxed. As the seconds turned into a minute, I tossed it towards Rodney. "It's a bust, McKay. Broken, useless, hunk of junk." I wasn't overly concerned. "For once it wasn't your lack of genetic prowess."

McKay, for his part, looked oddly deflated. "Try again," he said, thrusting it at me.

I pushed it back, "No." Why was he so interested in this? "It doesn't work. I could stick it in the hole five ways to Sunday, and it's not going to change the fact that it doesn't work."

"Would you just -" he tried again to hand it back.

Normally, when I've made up my mind, that's it, but there was something about the way McKay was looking at me. I flashed back to the worried look in my office. Reluctantly, I took the device back, and shook the rock out of the hole I'd stuck it in. There were four others, all arranged symmetrically around a center hole.

"Where's the other rocks?" I asked.

"There aren't," he said.

"That doesn't make sense," I argued, showing him the front of the device, why I don't know, he was the one who found it, and he already knew there were a bunch of other holes.

Judging by the second eye roll, he was thinking along the same line. "And everything about the Ancients makes sense?"

"More or less," I reasoned. They'd invented the Jumpers, after all –

"Major -"

Right. Device, rock and hole.

I think I did that irritated twist to my lips again. I was trying to stop that, because damn if I wasn't getting tired of being an open book in my responses to McKay. It was like feeding the sharks. Let them see weakness, and they'd circle closer for the kill.

So, anyway, what if I tried dropping this rock in the center hole? I did just that, and waited again. A second can go awfully slow when you aren't sure exactly what the next is going to bring. But the next didn't bring anything, or the one after, and so on.

Shaking my head, "It's a negative, McKay." I handed it back to him. "Maybe there weren't any other rocks with it, but I think there's supposed to be." I headed out the door, not waiting for a reply, didn't really expect one.

"Maybe you're right."

I stopped my feet from continuing forward out the door, and turned to look at him over my shoulder. He was staring dejectedly at the device, and suddenly I had a flash of insight. "You threw them away, didn't you?"

"How was I supposed to know they were anything other than rocks?" he exploded.

Oh this was good. All-knowing Doctor Rodney McKay had thrown away important parts to an unknown device. No wonder he'd looked worried when he'd shown up. "Well, get 'em back," I offered reasonably. It wasn't like there was a dump truck hauling our garbage to the city landfill.

He muttered something unintelligible. I rotated on my heel and faced him again. "What?"

I saw him take a deep breath, and look away. "Iskippedthemoffthebalcony."

I was kind of torn. My gut reaction wanted to rub this in. Infallible, arrogant, self-important scientist, that can do no wrong, actually _skipped_ valuable technology off the balcony into the water. The other part of me took in the dejected status of Rodney McKay, and my inner nature was repulsed at the thought of kicking a dog when he was down. McKay shouldn't be down. It went against the physical laws of nature.

"So the other rocks are missing," I said loudly - pointedly. "File it away as missing parts, and move on to something else."

I gave a pained smile, because that was a really hard thing to do - to just let the opportunity slide away, and before it got all gushy or anything, I turned back and started out the door.

"Thanks," called McKay.

I lifted a hand and waved it airily over my head. No mooshy stuff, remember. I knew Rodney would regret it as much as I would. The dirty gutter mind taunted, 'but would you still respect me in the morning' – savagely, I told the inner voice to shut up, and hoped the coffee wasn't a total write-off.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I forgot to add in the first part, my deep thanks to my beta Gaffer, she's truly a gem! It was nice to see you all enjoyed the skipping stones part.

It was a write-off, my coffee, that is. Not only was it cold, but a bug was floating morbidly on the surface. Looking at the bug, I hoped his last sip was worth it. Stupid bugs. Attracted to the very things that kill them, you'd think they'd learn. Of course, it'd be hard to learn when every lesson ends in death. It'd suck being a bug.

I sighed in frustration, and picked up the mug, walking over to the recessed sink in the wall, and upended the contents. I stared at my desk. I could go back to the mess hall and get another cup. The reports left were at least another cups' worth. Yeah, I'd do that. Half a cup wasn't enough to get me through a typical Atlantis day, especially not with people like McKay.

I rinsed it out, shook the extra droplets off, and headed to get a replacement cup. I was halfway there when I felt the city shake. It was a subtle thrum underneath my feet. Alarmed, I tapped my radio. "McKay?"

Don't ask me why I called him. I guess after all these months I know who is most likely responsible for these kinds of things, or if not responsible, inadvertently involved.

"If this isn't immediately life-threatening, I'm currently busy with something that is, so call back later."

His words had been clipped, rushed and arrogant. Typical.

"Are you in your lab?" I asked, ignoring his life-threatening message.

Not unexpectedly, his exasperated reply filtered into my ear. "No, I'm not in my lab. Life-threatening, remember? I'm at the control room for the water desalinization tanks. I don't keep life-threatening things in my lab -" there was a characteristic pause, "unless you count that shield device, but I didn't know it'd do that -"

I wasn't listening. I took off for his location at a fast jog. By the time I arrived in the room, he was still jabbering about the shield device, but the entire time he was punching frantically at controls, and scanning three different screens with text scrolling rapidly upwards. Red lights blinked furiously everywhere I looked.

Before I could ask what the hell was going on, McKay stopped talking, and his eyes got as wide as cue balls. His fingers stopped moving, and he stared horrified at the base of the large tank that was along the wall opposite the console where we were standing. I figured this wasn't a good thing, and was about to grab him, and go, when he turned and realized I was there.

"Duck!" he shouted, sprinting towards me, and he took me down in a full body tackle that would've made Gretzky proud.

The vibrating hum spiked, and I felt the explosion before I heard it. And then I couldn't hear anything at all. McKay was sitting up, rubbing a finger vigorously in his ear. Like that was going to help. We'd probably be deaf for the rest of the day, but at least we weren't dead.

Still a little shell-shocked, I mouthed at McKay, "Okay?"

I saw him mouth back, "What?"

Shaking my head, I peered around him, and could see blackened smoke rising thick behind the console. It had protected us from the brunt off the debris. A tug on my arm, and I realized McKay was looking at my hand. I followed his line of sight down.

My coffee cup. But all that was left, the part that I was holding, was the oval ring that you held so you wouldn't burn your hand when drinking. _Son of a bitch_, "That was my favorite cup!" I swore, but as I couldn't even hear myself, I don't suppose McKay did either.

It was stupid, but it'd been my favorite cup. It was a prank given to me in flight school. It had in bold black letters TOP GUN, and had a picture of two M-16's lying in bed, one on top of the other, missionary style.

Before we could try to stand, which probably wouldn't have been easy considering recent events, the room started swarming with personnel. A latex gloved hand pulled away the ceramic remnant from my surprisingly firm grip, and with the other hand lifted my chin and flashed a light into my eye, asking something. I'm not a lip reader, but it wasn't a stretch to figure out they were trying to find out what had happened and if we still had all our parts.

I motioned to my ear, and tried to say, "I can't hear you," and judging from the guys wince, I shouted it more than spoke it.

Out of the corner of my other eye, I saw Beckett standing behind Rodney, waving off Weir, Bates and some others. Whatever he said, they backed away, and he turned towards us, and gave the two techs an order. Next thing I know they're pulling us both up.

I was a little wobbly, balance is an ear issue you know, but I didn't fall. Rodney looked a little green, but he stayed up also. They helped us to the infirmary, and after some improvised communications, Beckett let us know we were going to be guests for the rest of the day, and that our hearing should return in short order.

He slipped us something during all the tests, because I found myself drowsing, and losing grip with what was awake and what was asleep. The next time I was sure about being awake, I realized I could hear, mostly. There was some residual ringing, but overall it was an improvement.

I got out of bed, and found myself steady on my feet. Searching out McKay, I found him a few beds over, stirring a little. He must be waking up, too. I pulled the curtain, and took off the scrubs, hurriedly getting into my uniform that was by the side of my bed. Buckling my belt, I gave the curtain a sharp twist, and it slid to the side. I could see McKay's curtain was now pulled. I dropped into the chair, and quickly got my boots on.

When that was done, I headed for Beckett's office. No surprise to find Doc poring over something. He was always running some test or another. As if we didn't keep him busy enough!

Knocking on the outside frame, I leaned in and called, "Hey."

I saw him look up, and the broad Scotsman smile told me he was pleased to see his patient upright and dressed, practically normal. He set the paper down, and got up, walking around to the front of his desk, and sat on the corner, waving me in. "Feeling better?"

I stepped in gingerly, unconsciously rubbing a hand through my hair, tousling the spikes up worse than they normally were. "What happened?" I asked.

I felt McKay coming up behind me, before I heard him. "What happened, Major, was a complete overload of tank 5," he said disgustedly. "Certain expedition members didn't listen to me when I warned them of the strain to the water system by wasteful over- usage."

I stepped to the side, allowing him room to get all the way in, instead of hovering over my shoulder. "You knew this was going to happen?"

He stared at me with thinly veiled impatience. "Did I say that?" he looked at Carson, who darted a sympathetic look my direction, but Rodney plowed on. "No, what I said, was I warned them about the strain on the system. I thought it'd shut down. Fail safes, redundant systems, the Ancients loved that, but what you happened to walk in on was the end result of tank 5 already working on the redundant system, and when that failed -" he mimicked an explosion with his hands, and added tiredly, "Kablooey."

"That's the technical term?" I jabbed.

The dirty look wasn't lost on either of us, but I needed more information. "What now? Are the other tanks enough?"

"We thought five were enough, Major."

Carson had a hand up to his mouth, twiddling a finger in thought. "Forgive me for sounding stupid, but wouldn't there be replacement parts around?"

Beckett always had a questioning way of offering solutions, uncertain of his stand in the technological aspects of Atlantis, despite having the gene that worked the best until I'd showed up and sat in that chair. But he often hit the nail on the head.

I pointed a finger at him, and back to McKay. "See, replacement parts. Everyone has spare parts."

"Do you know how big Atlantis is?" incredulous, Rodney asked us both.

"No, McKay, why don't you remind me?" I snapped back, turning on him.

"Fine," he retorted, standing straighter. "I will. Five percent, Major."

_What_? What tangent was he off on now? "Five percent of what?" I almost hated to ask, knowing that his mind had made yet another jump without taking me along for the ride.

"That's how much of the city we've managed to explore."

I knew that. Really, I did, seeing how I was the one coordinating the exploration, but the way he shoots out information without transitions would throw off anybody with normal thought processes. "That's because we're trying to conserve power, remember?"

Before McKay could reply, we heard a timid clearing of a throat behind us. Everyone swiveled their attention to find Zelenka standing behind us. The Czech smiled tightly, there and gone, and stepped between us.

"Ah, good, you are here," he said pleased. "Rodney, you would not believe what I found."

Oh, _I_ could imagine. I imagined this was probably a good time to get the heck out of Dodge. I raised an eyebrow at Beckett, trying to silently telegraph my exit, but as I did so, I noticed what Zelenka was holding.

Triumphantly, he held out the same device that McKay had me try to activate earlier today, or was it yesterday? I wasn't sure if we'd spent the night in the infirmary. Anyway, I almost thought it was the same, before I realized this one was blackened with soot, and rough, the circles jagged instead of smooth, and the middle circle was completely torn apart.

"Where'd you get that?" I asked, dry mouthed. I had a sneaky suspicion.

McKay apparently did also. "Tank 5," he guessed miserably.

Zelenka frowned at us both, "How did you know this?"

Beckett was watching as expectantly as Zelenka. I darted a worried look at McKay, and answered for him, "Good guess." The part did look like it'd been blasted, after all, didn't take a rocket scientist -

Zelenka and Beckett continued to give us a puzzled look, but I grabbed McKay, and pulled him out of the room. "I don't suppose there are anymore of those?" I hissed once we were out of earshot.

"No," he whispered back. "That was the only one."

Great. I couldn't help but think someone, somewhere, was getting a great laugh out of my life. I sighed, exhaling the frustration. "I hope you're a good swimmer," I gritted, as I continued moving towards the command deck. It was time to tell Elizabeth what we knew.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Dr. Dredd, liked the coffee cup, eh? Yeah, I'm thinking he doesn't have much sympathy for bugs anymore!

Laura-Trekkie, oh my yes, let the snowballing commence -

Out-of-Phase, thank you! And everyone, thanks for the reviews!

Now, onto part three...

**Part Three**

Weir could feel the skin on her forehead wrinkling, as she put two and two together. Folding her arms, and leaning against her desk, she looked again at Sheppard. "So this replacement part, is the same device that McKay accidentally ruined by," here she paused and cleared her throat slightly – was that a laugh? - "_skipping_ the parts," she was now staring at Rodney, and that was definitely a smile, "off the balcony?"

I nodded, holding my hands behind my back, a relaxed parade rest. It wasn't that there was much formality with a civilian leader in charge, and being in another galaxy, but old habits die hard. "That's the general idea," I confirmed.

McKay, for his part, was being uncharacteristically silent, but it wasn't to last. "If we had a decent form of recreation, I wouldn't have had to resort to finding my own," he accused with a pithy look.

Elizabeth unfolded her hands, and held up one, gesturing for extra emphasis. "It's all right, Rodney. We do realize that you are not all-knowing, but, you say we need to get tank 5 running, and if this is the only replacement part, that leaves us with a bit of a problem, doesn't it?"

This was the real stinker, in that those rocks now resided on the bottom of the ocean – a very long way down. "The Jumper?" I offered.

McKay shook his head, and was that a condescending smile now on his face? Like a Jumper couldn't go underwater – I'm betting it could.

"Jumpers aren't submarines, Major," he said, proving again that our thoughts tended to run alongside from time to time, or maybe I was starting to think like him? That's a scary thought. He waved both hands and added, "Let's paint them yellow, and gather around and sing Yellow Submarine."

My lips thinned, and I forgot Weir was in the room. "And you haven't been wrong before?"

"Rarely," he snapped back. "And for some reason I prefer to err on the side of caution when it comes to taking a vehicle down thousands of kilometers underwater, and subjecting it to crushing forces. I don't know about you, but I have this thing about having my body implode under the weight of kilotons of water!"

"I don't see you offering a better idea?" I hurled aggressively, and I wasn't standing in parade rest anymore. Here I was, trying to protect McKay's sorry ass by not reporting his screw up with the device, and then when that little adventure literally blew up in our face, I tried to offer a solution, and all he can do is complain!

"John, Rodney," called Elizabeth firmly. "Could we focus on the issue at hand?"

Rodney shot a puzzled look at Weir. "Wasn't that what we're doing?"

She didn't reply, instead she lifted the small rock that we had left, and peered at it curiously before asking, "And you're sure there aren't anymore of these?"

"Yes, I am sure," irritably, Rodney jerked his body. "Honestly, do you people even listen to me?"

"Maybe we would, if you didn't make it so difficult," I muttered.

He turned towards me again, "What?" and squinted his eyes impatiently.

So we tended to go back and forth a lot. It's what we did. But Weir was right, this wasn't helping us solve the situation at hand. As much as McKay's superiority complex grated, I wasn't willing to discount his fears over the Jumpers' capabilities. If he didn't want to risk taking it below the surface, then we'd find another way. Maybe the transporters -?

Just then, Bates arrived. He headed my direction, and the sensation of thunderclouds rolling in as he moved towards me, clued me that this wasn't going to be good.

"Major, we have a situation -"

Didn't we always? Keeping my thoughts neutral, I asked, "What now?"

"A group of civilians that lost water in their section after the loss of tank 5 have hijacked our section of rooms -," Bates paused.

"And?" I prompted.

He seemed to steel himself, and darted an uneasy look towards McKay, before finishing, "Including your office, and Doctor McKay's."

I was watching McKay as Bates' report sunk in. The slow shift from his annoyance at me, to mild surprise at the thought of a group of civilians commandeering other rooms when the water shortage was barely a day old, to resolute anger when he heard his office was included in the insurgent take-over.

"Give me your gun," he ordered, snapping a finger at Bates, and holding out his hand.

Alarmed, Bates looked at me. For my part, I was kind of enjoying this, and was about to tell Bates to go ahead, but Elizabeth stepped in.

"No!" she shouted, mildly panicked at the thought of McKay accosting other civilian members with a gun; and blaming me for not speaking up, she shot me a filthy look. "Rodney, work on a plan for retrieving these rocks." She tossed the one to him, and I'll give him props for quick reflexes because he caught it; though in truth, if he hadn't, it would've smacked him in the face. "Major, go with Bates, and get the water situation under control. Inform them that we are shuttling water to their rooms momentarily, and they can return where they belong, and -" she added tightly, "you can tell them that anyone refusing will be thrown in the brig."

I expected Bates to snap out his "Yes, Ma'am!" but he didn't. Instead, he was staring at McKay, or, more accurately – the rock in McKay's hand.

"Something to add, Sergeant?" I asked pointedly.

He frowned and said, "No, Sir!" he answered smartly, but then contradicted himself by asking McKay, "Where did you get that rock from, Doctor?"

"From my lab," replied McKay, as if Bates had asked him something stupidly simple, like what color was the sky.

"You recognize it?" I had a spark of hope. Maybe Bates had come across a crate of the things when exploring the city; in the small amount we had explored, as McKay had been so quick to point out earlier.

Bates stepped towards McKay and held out a hand. Rodney grudgingly handed it over, disbelieving that Bates knew what the object was. Rodney had a hard time believing in anyone, and at times it was comical, but this could be the answer to a very sticky situation, so I was inclined to let Bates finger the rock till he got his own rocks off, if that's what it took –

Speaking of the man, he was examining it, and finally seemed convinced. "I don't know how, but the planet we just gated to," he looked up at me, "the report I gave you on M45-X27 -"

"Proto-Earth?"

"Yes, Sir," he confirmed. He held the rock up so we could all look at it. "It's covered with these. As far as the eye can see. I thought it was some kind of lava rock."

I could see McKay's mental gears spinning. The light-bulb moment suffused his face, and he turned a true grin on me, 100 kilowatt, and I almost returned it back, because that meant he knew what the hell was going on. "Of course!" he crowed.

I mentally repeated 'of course', wondering how slow I was, that I had no idea – "Of course, what?" I said expectantly.

"It's a filter!" He took the rock back from Bates, practically taking the Sergeant's hand with it, "Activated charcoal."

"If it's littered with these rocks," I gestured at the source of all our trouble, "then why don't they have crates of the stuff?" Seriously, were the Ancients that short-sighted?

Rodney was annoyed with me again, because he was looking at me like I had grown two-heads or something. "How would I know?" he asked, his tone short-tempered. "Seriously, why do they go around wearing glorified night gowns? Maybe there are crates of these in the city, but knowing our luck, they were probably in the flooded sections, but -" he held aloft an excited finger, "- all we have to do is gate back to this planet, get a supply of rocks, problem solved. "

This was probably a good time to point out that it's never that easy, but I didn't. Judging from the tempered hopeful look being carefully controlled on Elizabeth's face, I wasn't the only one thinking it.

"Then I'm sure you and Major Sheppard are eager to prepare for the mission," she stated evenly.

_What?_ Me? "Wait a minute -" I protested. I had no desire to gate to the planet of Hellfire and Brimstone. There's working on a tan, and then there's working on a tan.

Apparently, McKay shared my concerns. "What do you mean, me and Sheppard?" he blustered. "Bates' team was the one who did the survey, they should go!"

When her lips form that tight, straight line, I know it's time to stop. And it was doing that, just now, so I let McKay do the protesting. "Rodney, Sergeant Bates will be dealing with the water issue," she answered calmly. "Now," she looked at her watch, "You and Major Sheppard have thirty-minutes. Take two others, I don't care who, and go!"

Ford and Teyla were on the mainland for some down time. Something I was now wishing fervently that I hadn't passed on. But thirty minutes? "Two hours," I said.

Oops, she turned that false calm on me, and I cringed, but didn't back down.

"One," she said with finality.

Okay, one was good. I sighed, and grabbed McKay, dragging him out the door before he could protest anymore, and add to our already increasingly dire situation. "Get you're gear, and I'll meet you in the infirmary."

He was going to argue, or should I say continue to argue, since he hadn't stopped yet, but I cut him off. "And dress lightly," I added, leaving him standing there, knowing I had to go secure two additional bodies. "I hear it's warm, there!"

As I headed away I heard him mutter, "_Funny_. Warm there. More like 'baked alive' warm. I'm going to burn -"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

"Beckett, I need someone to monitor the team's health when we're out there," I argued. "The atmosphere is barely enough to support life, it's so thin we need supplemental oxygen out there. Add in the toxic fumes -"

Carson wasn't buying it. "Which is precisely why I'm not going," he said solidly. "Major, I didn't come on this expedition to have my molecules repeatedly scrambled by that Ancients attempt at interplanetary travel, and I'm of no use on this mission."

I looked at the Doc, and despite the stubborn jut on his chin, and the cross demeanor, the man was a teddy bear. He could be talked into anything. He might bitch the whole time, but he'd do it.

With a knowing nod his direction, I sniffed slightly. "Okay, then. We'll need oxygen tanks, some masks, and what are the signs of anoxia again?"

He scowled.

I continued, "We might need some stimulants," I paused thoughtfully then pointed at a cabinet for effect, "You know, if we start having trouble."

"Bloody hell, Major," Carson exploded, weakening and knowing it. "Why d'you need me along on this trip?"

I gave him a hard stare, and then decided what the hell, sometimes honesty was the best policy. "Look, Doc, Ford and Teyla are off having fun in the sun and surf, and that leaves me with McKay. Elizabeth said I could take any two bodies to help, but nobody is going to be good enough for Rodney."

He studied me, trying to figure out if I was on the up and up, and I guess I passed, because he offered a grudging agreement. "Aye, I suppose that's true, but you know his opinion of doctors is about as high as his appreciation for lemon."

I smiled broadly at him. "I think the man doth protest to much, besides, if we gang up on him he'll arrive back home feeling more harassed than either of us will, and I consider that a mission well accomplished."

I saw the gleam in his eyes, and knew I had him by the gonads; the man was as good as mine. But, there was still that slight shadow of doubt. "Exactly how hot is it?"

I coughed, and said simultaneously, "110." And before he could take back his acquiescence, all but ran out the infirmary, shouting cheerily as I went, "Thirty minutes, Doc!"

"110!"

So he'd caught that part –

OoO

As it was, I think 110 was an optimistic measurement. It had to be pushing 120. Hellfire, indeed, this planet was straight out of Dante's Inferno. The ground was hard baked clay, cracked, and stretching out endlessly away from the gate. A few brown strands of plant life struggled unsuccessfully to stay alive, and judging by it's sorry state, it wouldn't be long before even that was gone. The gate was in a valley, and rising up all around were towering mountains, some flattened after losing their tops in explosions, while others smoked menacingly on the horizon, belching volcanic gas and detritus every now and then.

According to Bates, the location of the rock pile where our particular goal lay waiting, was about ten miles to the northernmost mountain, aiming straight as the arrow flies from where we stepped out of the gate. I'd wanted to take the Jumper, but damn if that wouldn't have made it easy, and so fate, God or whomever stepped in and squashed that down – actually, Rodney McKay did, but I was beginning to equate him as the vessel of fate, God, or whomever – something about unstable atmospheric conditions, turbulence, and unknown magnetic resonances on the planet because of the increasingly volatile nature of a planet burning it's last bit of life.

"SPF 1000 wouldn't be enough on this planet," grouched McKay.

He was walking behind me, followed by Beckett and the fourth body I'd dragged along, Roberts. Kid was 22, and eager to prove himself. The sad thing was that it was becoming increasingly clear that proving yourself on this expedition often meant dying. We'd already lost more than we could've anticipated.

The good thing, on the other hand, was that aside from the inhospitable status of the planet, this should be an easy scoop and go. There wasn't any native life to present a danger, and while the volcanoes were active, they were also far enough away from the gate.

"You put sunscreen on?" I asked surprised. It wasn't like we were staying long, and despite my warning to dress light, Rodney was wearing his long-sleeved shirt, and I was pretty sure I saw his jacket sticking out his pack.

"Didn't you?" he seemed equally surprised. "Major, did you realize that skin cancer is the only cancer on the rise?"

"Dying of skin cancer is the least of my concerns," I said dryly. My list was topped by wraith, and then wraith, and oh look, wraith again. I think I'd added the tic wraith bug as number 5, just because technically it had already killed me, and I'd survived, and I wasn't ever going to walk into one of those webs again.

"Carson, did you hear him?" Rodney said. "I knew you didn't do your job. You're supposed to be educating people on safety and health precautions. I've told you about their deplorable lack of care when we're off-world."

I looked past McKay, and had to stifle a laugh at the expression on Beckett's face. And then Beckett caught my eye, and oh _shit_, was that anger transference? Wincing, I hastily looked away.

" – don't even wash their hands!" droned McKay.

A loud rumbling stopped his ranting, and also stopped all of our walking. It started out low, and angry, like a long drawn out spat of thunder that keeps booming, but then it grew louder, and fiercer, and the ground started to tremble.

Everyone was watching me, but I was watching the ground, not sure what to do. If it'd gone on another moment, I would've headed back to the gate. We could make do on four tanks. It wouldn't be easy, but it'd be better than dying on this planet. You know that thing about fate - well, it stopped. Right as I was opening my mouth to issue that particular order, it stopped. And I will regret it forever that it did, because once the quiet had settled around us, I decided if we hurried, it'd be safe enough.

"Pick up the pace," I ordered. It was my only concession to the earthquake.

"Major," called Beckett. "Do you think it's safe?"

I eyed the mountainous horizon stretching far ahead, and sighed. No, I didn't think it was safe, but I figured it was _safe enough_, and therein was the difference. "Stay close together," I said, not really answering his question, but I had a habit of doing that, and I know it bugged him. I didn't often give direct answers. I was oblique, vague, skirting the issue, but as bad as I was, McKay was ten times worse. Between the two of us, Carson probably had a lot of headaches at the end of the day.

We hiked the next hour in silence, before I called a ten-minute break. "Water break," I said, pulling out my own canteen.

Beckett wiped sweat off his face, and took a long swig of water. His face was redder than Weir's uniform shirt, and I worried if maybe I was pushing him too hard. Elizabeth would kill me if Beckett wound up in bed with heat exhaustion, and too ill to do his job.

I sidled over to him, and knelt by his shoulder. He was reclined on the ground, and his elbow was the only thing keeping him from being supine. "You okay, Doc?"

He wiped his hairline again, and eyed me accusingly, "Don't ever ask me to accompany you again."

Fair enough. He had a point. The Hoffan thing had been an abysmal failure, and now this – I could understand his reluctance to ever listen to my ideas again. "We're almost there," I offered.

I checked on Roberts next. He was looking better than Beckett and McKay, and, I imagined, better than myself. Being young has its advantages. "Okay, Airman?"

"Fine, Sir," he answered. "I could go ahead, if you'd like?"

I shook my head. "We stick together. Splitting up on an alien world is never a good idea."

Disappointment flitted across his face, but I clasped his shoulder reassuringly, "Don't worry, we'll be there soon."

Young, and eager to prove himself, but this wasn't a mission that would allow any heroics, and besides, he could save the heroics for the day the wraith found Atlantis. God knows, we'd need more than a few heroes when that day arrived.

"I'm fine, by the way," said McKay loudly, waving in my direction. "Thanks for asking!"

I waved cheekily back.

I was rewarded with a disgusted scowl, before he went back to rubbing his calves. The walk on the hard ground had been punishing on the bones. Every step was a jarring impact. Try as we might, you couldn't walk softly. The heat wasn't helping.

I went ahead and dropped beside him, because despite the bickering, I was drawn to McKay. We had some kind of friendship, though I'll be damned if I knew what. "How's the SPF holding up?"

"It's not," he retorted.

He did look kind of red, almost as much as Beckett. I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, so was a little better off under the baking sun. "Why didn't you wear your other shirt?"

"It was dirty."

I snorted. "And it wouldn't have been a sweaty mess after this trip anyway?"

"Maybe dirty isn't a good word," he admitted. "Burnt is better."

"How did you burn your shirt?" I said startled.

He almost looked pleased that I'd asked. Uh oh.

"Funny you should ask," he started. "I was risking life and limb with a device that could potentially make that shield device look like a child's plaything -"

"If it burned your shirt," I said wisely, "I don't think it's better than the other shield device."

He rolled his eyes. "It wasn't supposed to burn anything," he replied. "Someone; and when I find out who, they'll be scrubbing floors; charged it improperly." His face twisted in dismay. "It shorted out completely, totally fried, useless, paperweight."

"How do you know it wasn't meant to do that?"

"Three letters, Major, P H D."

"Potentially Horny Dumbass?"

I saw his jaw muscles tightening below the surface, and grinned unrepentantly. "Time's up," I called to everyone and quickly got to my feet, and outside McKay's strike zone.

We made it the rest of the way without anymore quakes, and after confirming these rocks were the same as the one we had, gathered up a few bags' worth to take back. Beckett had a chance to be useful, and after taking some vitals, told me it was time to crack out the extra oxygen.

I signaled for Roberts, and pulled off my pack, when the proverbial floor dropped out from under us.

This time, we had little warning. The shaking, and splitting, began almost instantaneously, and all I remember was hearing McKay shout, and then I was falling because the ground that had been under my feet was suddenly gone.

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Oops! I fixed the doc with my beta copy, but forgot to save, so it uploaded the old unedited version so, this is the beta'd CORRECT chapter, eek! That's what I get for not doing a preview.

**Part Five**

What happened next, was a trip down the rabbit hole that would've made Alice jealous. I had a vague memory of slamming into inflexible surfaces, and hearing panicked shouts following me down. And then it all went incredibly blank.

I don't know how long I was out for, but I woke to utter silence. Panicked, I rolled to my side, and started searching for two things - location, and McKay. We'd fallen into a sinkhole that was created by the quake, and judging from the daylight above, it was a good twenty feet up a steep and crumbling slope. Now McKay, he wasn't far from my position, but he was at an awkward position. Half on his side, and back, and I saw blood.

Sweating bullets that weren't from the heat, I stumbled over, and carefully rolled him till he was flat on his back. There was a vicious rip in his long sleeved shirt that I'd thought he was nuts for wearing, and the source of the blood was apparent. When he'd rolled down, he'd gone up against a sharp rock, and lost.

While I hastily reached for his pack, thankfully not far from his body, I also started scanning for the other two members of my team. _Shit!_ Where were Beckett and Roberts? Thanking McKay for bringing his jacket, I propped his head on the improvised cushion, and dug out his med-kit.

"Beckett!" I shouted, fighting to keep the desperate edge toned down. "Roberts!"

Blood was everywhere, even as I tried unsuccessfully to bind the ragged wound. On my hands, arms, shirt, and spreading in the clay underneath me, causing a blood mud to cake on my knees.

"God damn it, would you quit fucking bleeding, McKay!" I swore, angry at the crawling fear. It wasn't just the cut, it was also the fact that I was sitting here yanking and pushing on a massive injury, and the man hadn't flinched yet.

Finally, despite hands so slick you would've thought it was extra virgin olive oil instead of my friend's life coating my hands, I got a thick bandage around the injury, and held as much pressure as I could humanly muster, praying the bleeding stopped, _hell_, slowed, even.

"Major!"

I jerked. I don't know how long I'd been down there holding in McKay's vital fluids, but judging from the numbness in my hand, it'd been a while. I must've zoned. "Down here!" I shouted.

Robert's face peered over the edge. "Doctor Beckett is still unconscious, I think something hit us -"

"Are you okay?" I barked. I needed him to get help, and fast. We'd needed oxygen right before everything had came crashing down, literally. I was feeling a burning hunger in my chest, and wonder if that had to do with the zoning I'd experience, and maybe why Beckett was still out of it up top.

His face pulled back, and right about the time I was starting to get all freaked again, it came back. "Sorry, Sir. I think Beckett's coming to, but he's really out of it."

"Fine!" I snapped. "Are you okay?" I repeated. Focus, damn it. One thing at a time. We were on a sinking ship, and going down fast.

"I think so!" the airman called uncertainly.

I couldn't see his face, couldn't judge if he really was, or if he was handing out that hero thing I'd worried about earlier. If I could just get up – but I couldn't, because I was all that stood between the grim reaper and McKay.

"Okay, look," I started, as loud as I could, which was growing less and less each time as my lungs grew more and more oxygen starved. _God, this world sucks_. "You've got to get back to the gate, and call for help."

"Sir?"

For the first time, I heard a note of anxiety from the airman. This hadn't been his first time out the gate, but the other two trips had been straight forward, there and back, and here's a nice cold drink for your trouble, kind of deals. This was the anvil and forge, and Roberts' metal was being tested in the fire.

"You can do it," I hollered encouragingly. "Take an oxygen tank, and be careful!"

I saw a jerk of his head, and he promised, "I'll be back before you can explain to McKay what happened."

And then he was gone. Or at least I figured he was, because his head never popped over the edge again, and it was back to being just me, McKay, and his totally fucked up arm. I tried to shift on my haunches, but it didn't help. Muscles were cramping, and sweat was soaking through my clothes everywhere. Not just in the typical pits and creases, but along the band of my boxers, and the middle of my back, and my thighs.

I had a lot of time to sit and worry. Or maybe it wasn't that long at all. It's funny how time passes in a relatively slow turn when the situation is dire. As it did pass, I had a feeling that dire was an understatement. McKay hadn't even so much as rolled an eyeball under his closed eyelids, and I was beginning to suspect more was wrong than what the eye could see.

"Major Sheppard! Rodney!" a weak shout from above.

Beckett! I don't think I've ever been so thankful for someone in my life, ever, not even when Ford found me on the planet with the tic wraith trying to induce a new type of vampiric relationship.

"Doc! I've got a problem down here!" And my problem was that Beckett was up there, and McKay was down here.

I saw loose dirt break off the edge, and start rolling down. I draped myself over Rodney, like a human umbrella, and wished I was Mary Poppins, and could fly up out of this pit. What good is an umbrella if it can't fly?

When I sensed the small avalanche was finished, I lifted my torso away, and looked up. Beckett was looking down at us, and he had an oxygen mask over his face. That was good. I knew I'd need the doc in as good as shape as possible when the rescue team arrived. For all Rodney's bitching, both of us found it hard to trust any other doc than Beckett.

"Major, do you have any tanks?"

I shook my head, and the resulting thump reminded me that I probably shouldn't have done that. We'd been in the process of getting those tanks out when all hell had broken loose, and I'd tried to see if any had tumbled down with us, a steel jack and jill, to save our broken crown, but if any had, they'd been buried along the way.

"I'm coming down!"

"No!" Geez! "Are you nuts!" I shouted. "That's a twenty foot drop, you'd be killed!"

Holy crap, I think he just jump-started my heart. The thought of Beckett falling, and rolling, and breaking, was almost as bad as staring at a broken McKay. No, Beckett needed to stay put so he could put Humpty Dumpty together again.

He hovered uncertainly, but I guess my panic got through to him, because he didn't make any attempt at a swan dive off the edge of sanity. "What are Rodney's injuries?" he asked instead.

Sheesh. I was still coming out of the cold sweat, and now he wanted me to focus on what was wrong with McKay? Everything, that's what - he was broken, fix him, I felt like saying.

"His arm is a bloody mess," I shouted. "Beyond that, I can't see anything." Beckett would know the unspoken fear. Internal injuries.

"Son," Beckett said it loud enough for me to hear, but there was a firmness, reaching in to my gut, and pouring a strong dose of stout, "I'm going to look for a way to lower an oxygen tank."

I closed my eyes, and with my free hand, swiped tiredly at stinging salty droplets of sweat that burned my eyes. I swallowed, and told myself that's the only reason my eyes were burning, and it was the heat, the lack of air, the fatigue – everything, other than the fact that I felt McKay dying in front of me, and all I could do was sit, and hang on.

How could things go so bad, so fast? One moment I'd been teasing him, accusing him of being a horny dumbass, and the next, I'm holding on to him for dear life- _his_ dear life.

"Major!"

The tank was coming down; at least I hope that's what it was. Beckett had tied the roll of gauze around the valve and was lowering it. It dropped an arm's length away, and I had to reach to wrap my fingers around, but I got it.

"You first!" ordered Beckett. "You've got to stay awake." Unvoiced, _for McKay_. How could such an arrogant, annoying man inspire such care and loyalty? Because he gave it back, ten-fold, always had. His mouth said one thing, while his actions said something else entirely. I'd known that from the moment he'd slapped that shield on, and faced off with the black cloud entity, and he'd not disappointed me once.

I lifted the mask, and pushed it against my face, holding it in place with a shoulder, while using that same hand to gently turn the flow valve about half way. I didn't want to get dried out anymore than I was, sitting down here being baked alive in this make-do kiln. After gulping greedily, I set it over McKay's mouth and nose, and counted at least ten breaths, and alternated back to me, increasing to twenty breaths each.

"I see someone coming!" excited, Beckett was looking over our pit, and towards the way we'd came. "I think it's – Bates, and is that? Zelenka?"

I didn't care. It could have been Steve the Wraith, at this point, at least that would mean the ordeal was going to be over.

"Hurry," I tried to shout, but my voice cracked, and I knew their timing was impeccable, because my world was graying out, and all I kept saying as I felt my body tipping was "Don't let go, don't let go, don't let -"

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Part Six**

I was dreaming. It had to be a dream. Standing like a male Carrie, McKay was pointing a finger and accusing me of letting him die. "I didn't!" I protested. "I tried, _McKay_!" God, I'd tried.

"Lad, wake up," called a familiar brogue.

I wanted to wake up, because if I did, then maybe McKay's dead figure would only be a nightmare, but what if he was really gone? I wasn't ever what I considered a coward, but I felt my heart speed up from the fear of what I might see in Beckett's eyes.

"He's not dead," said the Scot softly. "It's only a dream."

What if he was wrong?

"Damn it, Sheppard, don't do this to me!" the kindly voice grew frustrated, and was that desperation?

I tried. I really did. There was something inside me that didn't want to disappoint Beckett, but my body was refusing to cooperate, and unwillingly, I was dragged down further into frantic nightmares of bloody McKays, and my worst fear realized.

OoO

" – _inhaled toxic fumes –"_

"_- developed an infection – doing all we can –"_

"_Major Sheppard, can you hear me?"_

"_They tell me that talking helps, but John, I don't know who the help is for, you or me. Rodney almost died today, but Carson is a miracle worker. He thinks the both of you are only alive because you're seeing who can last the longest –"_

When I was a kid, there was a show that I couldn't miss, Magnum PI. The man exuded machismo, and the Ferrari – that car kicked ass. Cherry red, and I'd imagine myself flying down the asphalt sky, nothing between me, and speed. I've always had a need to fly, whether on the ground, or in the air.

Anyway, there was this episode where Magnum was almost killed, and he was walking around, talking to his buddies, except they weren't talking back, because they couldn't see him. I kind of knew now what the producers tried to convey. When I finally woke up, I was confused.

Beckett was there within seconds. He told me with haunted eyes, that I'd been in a coma for six days. Six days! But I had memories – and I'd heard things. I wasn't really gone for those six days, though I had no recollection of time passing.

I was thirsty. I saw the IV line snaking into my arm, and noticed the three bags hanging on the pole by my bed. But I was still thirsty, desperately thirsty. "Water?" I whispered.

"Easy now," cautioned Beckett, holding the cup towards me, and sliding a supportive hand beneath my back. It wasn't water, but ice chips. I took a couple small ones, and sucked on them thankfully.

I was scared to ask, but I had to know. "McKay?"

I saw his lips tighten, and closed my eyes. _Don't say it, don't say it, don't say_ –

"He's not dead," Beckett replied soberly.

I re-opened my eyes. "But?"

"He developed an infection, and combined with the toxic fumes –"

I had just woken up from a six-day coma, and my thought processing wasn't catching up to the chain of events that lead to both of us being in such dire straits. Noticing my attempt (note, I say attempt) at concentration, Beckett pulled up a chair.

"The sinkhole you two fell in was full of poisonous gases – like what happened to miners when they'd dig wells and shafts, sometimes the air was deadly, until it was vented." He crossed his arms, and looked very tired. "Because there was open atmosphere, it was diluted enough to not kill you both instantly, but as the toxins rose, you both were inhaling much more concentrated levels than we did up top."

"Will he be all right?" This was cut-to-the-chase time, and I needed to know. Beckett was considering his words carefully, I could tell, because he was staring at me, but not _seeing_ me.

Finally, he answered. "I believe so."

That was it? That was my answer? I licked my lips, wanting another ice chip, and a better assurance. "I woke up, right?" I argued, "So McKay should also." My little world had narrowed considerably in Antarctica, but narrower wasn't necessarily easier. Here I'd met people I could truly care about, but times like these, I didn't want to care.

I'd tried to remember the lesson learned in Afghanistan. My constant battle of words with McKay had been a direct product of that effort not to care, and look where that got me. Caring more for him than I should, and wishing like hell he'd wake up and give me an excuse to lob some more verbal volleys – that is, once I recovered enough to think of something more pressing than ice chips.

Beckett's lips thinned again. I hadn't known anyone's lips could get that straight, but whenever Carson was stressed, there they went, so symmetrical you could balance a level off them. "I'm going to be honest with you, Son. When you were down in the pit, being awake counted against you. Your respiration rate was higher than Rodney's, which is why you've been in critical condition, in a coma. However, Rodney suffered considerable blood loss, and trauma, and if that wasn't enough, an infection has set in."

"You can stop being honest," I said, my words strangling in my throat. I didn't feel good enough to cope with this shit.

"Don't count him out yet," Beckett forced a smile, "Rodney might believe death is dogging his steps, but he's in good shape, he can pull through this."

I searched Beckett's face for any sign of duplicity, but there was none. It'd have to do for now, because the alternative wasn't something I could handle. I needed to shift the topic, and as my eyelids fought against gravity, there was a matter that was pressing on my mind. "Roberts?"

He'd gotten help, and saved us. I wanted to talk to him, tell him good job, and make sure he was coping with the events on the planet.

It took a minute for me to notice the dead silence that had fallen. I pulled back to get a better look at Beckett. "What?" Had he gotten sick? I tried to see around, but I only found one other bed occupied, and that was McKay, surrounded by soft whirring machinery and beeping monitors. "Doc?"

He shook his head.

I wanted to scream that this was bullshit. The kid had been fine! He'd leaned over that hole, and he'd talked to me, and he'd been fine –

"How?" I asked, my voice steady despite the pulling fatigue. I just wanted to know how.

"The quake that sent you and McKay into the sinkhole, also sprayed us with debris – rock, and hard packed clay." Beckett pulled up his shirt, and I paled at the massive bruising across his chest. "He'd taken a hit in the head, and it caused a bleed in his brain." I could see Beckett's hands trembling slightly. "He dialed Atlantis, and called in the accident, but while waiting for the rescue team, he died."

"If he had stayed –"

Beckett's eyes turned hard, flinty – "Don't play the 'if' game, Major. It never ends any differently."

But it did, at least in my mind, because we both knew that if Roberts hadn't exerted himself on a hike back to the gate, if he'd stayed flat on his back, and not exacerbated the bleed in his brain, he could've had a chance. He probably would've lived.

"If help had not arrived when they did, you'd both be dead," said Beckett, as close to reading my mind as a person could be. He didn't stay around for me to protest about how that wasn't good enough. Two-for-one deals don't count in human lives.

Cumulative damage caught up with me, and though I didn't want to, I fell asleep. I didn't dream.

OoO

I was there when McKay woke up. I'd gained strength, and managed to sneak away from my bed, to find a chair beside _his_ bed. It wasn't only for his benefit, it was more for mine. It wasn't so lonely here.

It'd been two days since I'd woken, and Beckett had assured me this morning that he'd be waking soon. His infection was turning tail, and running for the hills. The forty-seven stitches looked healthy, and his lungs were clear. Everything pointed to a mending McKay.

He didn't pop up like I did. I'd gone from coma to discourse with little transition, but he took it slow and steady, which was ironic, as I'd never known McKay to do anything slow. I noticed his legs moved about restlessly first, and then he grabbed my hand when I took his in my own.

The eyes moved. A little, then more, and then they were blinking up at the ceiling, reflecting the confusion he was feeling. I stood abruptly, and had to grab the bed rail to avoid falling from the dizziness, but managed to shout for Beckett.

Beckett arrived with reinforcements, and I had to get out of the way or be run over. They did their thing, and I skulked off to my bed. I listened to the low murmurs as McKay was put through the basic assessments to make sure he was still of sound mind and body.

I wanted to stay awake, but my body was still recovering also, and I didn't manage to wait for the mass of personnel to depart. When I next was up, McKay was down, and so it went for another two days. I was growing tense, and irritable. The memorial service for Roberts was the day after tomorrow, and I was feeling restless. It was time to get out of here, but Beckett wasn't letting go, and I didn't know why.

He said something about toxicity levels, but wouldn't look me in the eyes. The more time passed, the angrier I became at myself. I shouldn't have let the kid sacrifice himself like that – it didn't do a lot of good when a small voice inside said I couldn't have done anything different. A louder voice insisted I could, and you know what they say about the squeaking wheel – louder voice was having more of an impact in my gut.

I heard McKay's bed shifting, and I stared, waiting to see if he'd wake up. The movement increased, and a bleary McKay sat up, looking around for somebody. His gaze locked on to mine, and he winced. "What are you doing up?"

"Same thing you are," I answered reasonably. Time had a way of losing meaning in the infirmary.

I got up, and tiptoed over. Beckett sometimes slept in his office when he had patients, and I wasn't lost to the fact that the patients he tended to stay over with, were usually McKay and myself. What I hadn't figured out yet was if he did it out of fear that we'd try to take off during the night, or out of a sense of protectiveness. Maybe it was a little of both.

"You've been doing a nice impression of Sleeping Beauty," commented McKay.

"You should talk! I thought you existed on less sleep than a -" What the hell slept little and constantly ate?

"I had an infection," he drawled self-importantly, brandishing his bandaged arm.

"Yeah, well," I was fishing here, "I had higher levels of toxins in my system."

"This isn't rock, paper, scissors. Or, 'you show me your scar, and I'll show you mine'."

Wasn't it? It's just some scars don't show on the outside, and sometimes the showing was the telling, and the healing was mixed in there somewhere. "I've easily got more scars than you," I promised. Yeah, that was a lame retort. My witty comebacks were still suppressed from the trauma of watching McKay bleed out in front of me. I wasn't going to admit that, or anything.

"I'm sure you do," he said. "And so does the battle scarred rooster."

"Are you comparing me to a chicken?" Roosters had pointy things on their head, and were loud, and went around trying to keep out all the bad guys from his chicks – why am I even comparing myself to a rooster?

"If the three-pronged claws fit -"

"Well, maybe you need to get a better rooster," I said hotly. For a guy supposedly protecting his flock of hens, I'd sure screwed up a lot lately, and the tally of lives wasn't getting any smaller.

Maybe screwed up was harsh, but bad things kept happening, and how many ways can you foresee a sudden downturn of events that end in the worst of ways? I was trying, God knows, I was trying. I laid awake at night trying to plan out what could happen, and how to avert disaster, but try as I might, situations kept cropping up that never made it into John Sheppard's book of potential fatality inducers.

"The rooster is just fine," snapped McKay. "Maybe the rooster should accept that tornadoes happen, and floods, and other disasters that can't be prevented, and hens die."

I raised an eyebrow, because that sneaky son-of-a-bitch was not going to let it drop. I worked my jaw, and gritted out, "Every good rooster should carry hen-insurance, for emergencies."

"I am not doing this," said McKay abruptly. "This is stupid. Roosters, and hens, and tornadoes - _crap_, my life was never this complicated before you." He paused for a breath, and continued sharply, "You are not to blame for Roberts. Roberts is not to blame for Roberts. You are not God, Major. You can't see all ends, and all you did was try to work with what you did know, and that was me."

I didn't even get time to argue, before he pressed on, "I was _dying_. If you had done anything other than what you did, I wouldn't be here, and there's a damn good chance neither would you. Now, I don't know Roberts, but I know the majority of the people in this expedition would give their lives for others. You don't get to have a monopoly on heroic sacrifice, so quit sulking."

I wanted to get mad, and yell, and tell Rodney he didn't know what the hell he was talking about, but the thing that made me even angrier was that he did. He was right. Chances are, even if Roberts had known it was probably going to kill him, he would've gone anyway. I'd seen it in the kid.

I fought for control, seemed I was doing a lot of that lately. "Why do all the good heroes have to die?" I asked roughly.

McKay was watching me carefully, and answered quietly, "I don't know," he sighed, and repeated, "I don't know."

I didn't know what else to say. I wasn't used to any of this, but I was getting used to it, and that almost bothered me more than anything. This conversation had tired me out, and judging from the stillness of McKay, had done the same to him. I stood up, and tapped him on the leg, silent thanks for his help.

It might have been a verbal slap in the face, but it did the job. The small voice saying it wasn't my fault had grown louder, thanks to McKay, and I could hopefully find a measure of peace, until the next time –

As I walked away, I thought I heard McKay whisper something, but I couldn't be sure – it sounded like, "Don't be a hero -"

OoO

We got tank 5 working again, and McKay and I continued to recover. The day all forty-seven stitches were removed, I bugged him to meet me on the balcony. He blustered about a back up of projects, and how important he was, and something about clandestine meetings (and here I had to really restrain that twelve year old boy inside me). In the end, he showed up, and I handed him a bag of rocks.

"I'm touched," he said sarcastically. "Rocks."

I reached over and pulled one out. "For skipping, McKay."

I saw his mind shift from irritated to pleased. Normally, he'd have talked continually, but this time he didn't say anything. He didn't argue that we shouldn't, or that he had things to do, or anything – instead, he hefted a rock, grinned, and sent it flying. "Ha!" he exclaimed. "Five skips."

I juggled mine a bit, shifting it in my hand, and searching for just that right position, before slinging it across the water. "Six!" I said satisfied.

"That was not six," argued McKay. "It wasn't a whole skip the last time."

"It was to. Just because I got one more than you -"

"To be counted as an entire skip, it has to leave contact with the surface, and touch back before sinking. It skimmed after number five," he said confidently. "Doesn't count."

So, things were back to normal, and we spent an afternoon debating the finer art of rock skipping, and I even dedicated a few of my better ones to Roberts. McKay shot a few for Abrams, and Gall. And in the end, all I had left from losing another man, was the knowledge that if things had fallen slightly different, he wouldn't have had to die. A split-second of me ordering him to stay instead of go –

Maybe regret wasn't the right word. Maybe haunt wasn't either. What I did know, was that I wouldn't forget. I wouldn't forget Sumner, Gall, or Abrams, and I wouldn't forget Roberts. For a kid barely out of diapers, he was my kind of hero.

THE END

AN: I want to thank my wonderful beta Gaffer, and all of you for taking the time to read! As for the 'red shirt' comments, that made me smile. Yes, he was the fated red shirt, and I almost (judging from one review) tricked you into thinking he got off lucky, but alas, he was a casualty before I typed the first paragraph.


End file.
